


don't shy from the light

by poetic_leopard



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: But Gon's Killua Trash Too WeehEY, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Light Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, Please Euthanize Me I'm Sad, THESE CHILDREN!!!, We all know Killua is Gon Trash, cuddlefluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 09:14:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13143573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poetic_leopard/pseuds/poetic_leopard
Summary: Gon's content being in Killua’s presence, falling asleep next to him; he wants to keep being oblivious to the horrors the future might hold. He wants to surrender to fickle wants and childish hopes. He wants to be the light Killua’s convinced that he is. {Two boys share their first kiss at the wrong place, during the worst time. Takes place during the events of episode 94 of the anime].





	don't shy from the light

**Author's Note:**

> this is a painfully self-aware version of gon that i wish existed ok T_T idk what else to say,,?? let these sweet summer children be happy?? how is this not canon?? just ONE HUG togashi??

_I can't think of any greater happiness than to be with you all the time, without interruption, endlessly, even though I feel that here in this world there's no undisturbed place for our love, neither in the village nor anywhere else; and I dream of a grave, deep and narrow, where we could clasp each other in our arms as with clamps, and I would hide my face in you and you would hide your face in me, and nobody would ever see us anymore.  
\- Franz Kafka_

* * *

 +

There’s something different about Killua.

He tilts his head back and laughs at something inconsequential as a waiter drifts over to their table and places a mouth-watering pastry in front of him. When you spend your every waking moment with someone, their familiarity becomes practiced and weirdly monumental, rendering anything that might disrupt that recognized routine foreign and unknown. Killua fawns delightedly over the sight, but the light doesn’t exactly reach his eyes.

This shouldn’t even be scratching the surface of all the things that are bothering Gon right now, but it does. Gon isn’t sure when he started noticing stuff like that: the little discrepancies in his best friend’s mannerisms. He’s adept at many things, but there’s a reason nobody praises him for his observational skills. That’s definitely always fallen under Killua’s realm of expertise, and as long as Gon has Killua, Gon can focus on carrying out the actions that need carrying out without racking his brain over the fallout. There’s a little voice in his head that points out the selfishness of that statement, but he brushes it off as he takes another big bite of his sandwich. 

Killua’s gaze is careful; contemplative as he slams a fist down on the table in order to revert Gon’s attention back to the conversation at hand. Gon pulls a tall glass of orange juice towards him and begins to sip, silently gazing back. There’s a bandage across Killua’s forehead, deftly hidden beneath his pale bangs, and another one adorning his cheek. Minor scratches lap his face, faint little star trails of abrasive red quick to be purpling. He looks so much more worse for wear. There’s something new and poisoned and exhaustive behind the feline blue of his eyes. 

What on earth had he gotten himself into while Gon had been out with Palm?

The restaurant they're at is pseudo-fancy, lit in dimly splendor with Chinatown-knockoff chandeliers dipping from the ceiling and scratchy maroon carpets draping the floors. It's getting close to closing hour and the late evening crowds are thinning, quickly reduced to formal businessmen in refined suits and young couples still chained timelessly to their seats. From the kitchen, the staff bark hurried orders at one another, in a heady rush to clean up in time. A steady flow of lilting conversation reverberates around the room.  

“Then tell her to wait until Kite’s back to normal.” Killua snaps.

“I did,” Gon’s words are muffled against the straw still jammed in between his lips.

Killua drops his head a little, closes his eyes and lets out a sigh. “So that’s why she went batshit crazy and pulled out the mother load of knives.”

“Well,” Gon finishes his drink, attempting to slurp up the last remaining bits of juice but only coming up with air. “I’m pretty sure _you’re_ the reason she pulled out the knives.”

“You’re welcome.” Killua muttered, resting his chin under his fist and tucking into his pastry.

“I had it under control.” Gon insists. And why’s he got his hoodie zipped all the way up to his throat? How bad is he hurt anyway? Killua’s face is almost pallid at this rate and there are sunken shadows beneath his eyes, providing an unsettling juxtaposition to their usual characteristic brightness. No, but there’s something else that’s different. He’s sitting up straighter and despite the weariness of his expression, he looks more _awake_ now. It’s his tone of voice too… It’s not that he’s gotten louder or that he’s speaking another language… More like… There’s a certain underlying confidence bearing foundation to every uttered syllable. The sort Gon’s never actually come to expect from Killua before. It’s his aura too, Gon supposes.

It feels more… _dangerous_ than before.

Sturdy, glaring; heavy enough that Gon can actually feel the invisible heat of it radiating off his own skin. 

“Sure looked like it when I showed up. Did she do damage to your brain?”

“Trust me, Palm’s easy to handle whenever you aren’t around," Gon admits. "You kinda agitate her.”

“Yeah?” Killua’s mouth curls into a sneer. “Feeling’s mutual.”

Silence follows as they continue to clear their plates. Tomorrow they’ve got to hit the gym and start training. It’s going to be a big day, a big week and Gon’s already begun feeling like he’s run out of time. He can feel the ruptured omen of it in the air—like dust picked up by a typhoon. Something bad’s coming—and he has to fix whatever it is and get Kite restored before it’s all too late. That should be his primary focus. It _is_ his primary focus. Yet even so… Killua’s new semblance bothers him.

Gon doesn’t want to admit it, but he’s a little afraid he’s going to get so swept up by the oncoming storm that he’s going to lose sight of himself and what’s important to him. He’s afraid that someday soon, he’ll look to Killua and see a boy he doesn’t recognize (and it’ll somehow be all his fault). 

“You don’t have to be threatened by her, you know.” Gon says, despite himself.

“What?” Killua’s eyebrows disappear into his bangs, horrified by the mere suggestion. It amuses Gon when he gets all flustered like that. “Why would I be—?”

“She’s actually really kind, if you get to know her, I mean. Pretty, too… But she’s way too old.”

Killua looks like he’s trying to grasp for the right words for a couple of seconds, before nodding his head, softly.

“I wasn’t sure you’d noticed." There's relief stains his words.

“Hey,” Gon says. “Now can you tell me what happened to you?”

“You don’t have to worry about me.” Killua says, scoffing down the last remaining bits of his strawberry pastry. There are crumbs still clinging to his winter-chapped lips. Some part of Gon wants to brush them off, but he doesn’t want to freak Killua out, so he keeps his hands to himself. “Tsk,” Gon clicks his tongue and stares Killua down, teasingly. “That’s what friends do. Friends _worry._ I thought no concept was too high-concept for you?”

Killua’s ears turn an enticing shade of pink and something warm like sinking your fingers into cake spreads inside of Gon’s chest. “Shut up, Gon,” Killua begins, before stretching and suppressing a yawn. “Let’s get out of here. We should rest up if we want to hit the gym early.”

Gon—mind easily evaded; concedes and they call for the bill.

When they step out into the night air, everything is reduced to blurred shapes in the dark, the prominent edges of which stick out like sore thumbs: the rundown buildings and the craggily alleyways closed off due to roadwork, all the tiny shops with their shutters pulled down and the fountains spitting water. A quilt of twinkling stars hangs drowsily over the town, backlit by the sleepy moon.

Gon turns to look at Killua to find that Killua’s already looking at him. The other boy breaks into a roguish grin that somehow manages to settle itself in Gon’s belly like a cat. “Race you to the hotel room?” he challenges, nudging Gon in the side. “Loser buys breakfast!” Gon exclaims, feet already prepped to soar. They bound through the deserted streets, native and voltaic as a pair of nightingales. Killua, swift and soundless on his feet, graceful in the way he carries himself and Gon, hurtling and purposeful, his burning legs wielded like wings forcing flight. Gon loves this dance. He loves the wind whipping against his face and the smell of dew-sprinkled hydrangeas that remind him of home and that proud, immeasurable feeling of Killua’s immediate presence.

His life on the island had been blissful, but every night after he’d be done exploring for the day, he would always come home alone, but not for a lack of companionship. 

Gon was convinced Killua was the only person who could keep up with him when he was like this. (And for that, he loved him). 

Gon’s system is aflame by the time they barrel to a stop in front of the hotel door. He can hear Killua’s heaved breaths beside him, his painfully blue eyes wild with exhilaration. “Shit, I couldn’t actually tell who got here first,” he rasps. “Me neither,” Gon giggles. “But I bet it was me!” 

“Keep telling yourself that, loser,” Killua chuckles, wrestling against Gon to make it first to the door knob. Gon pushes his elbow into Killua’s arm to no avail until his fingers come to rest over Killua’s curled fist, still planted firmly on the knob. Killua’s skin is warm and clammy, and kind of reminds Gon of a particular sun-warmed day venturing through the foothills back in Whale Island when he caught a rare, rainbow-hued beetle in the palm of his hand. “Ha,” Killua meets Gon’s eyes. “I win.” 

“No fair!” Gon groans defeatedly, but it escapes genial. 

There’s a split-second where they just stare at each other, breathless and pink-faced from the adrenaline, something young and blooming and familiar solidifying in the air between them. 

Gon suddenly becomes distinctly aware of his hand and how it’s still clasped over Killua’s. He doesn’t fully understand why he notices, but Killua’s knuckles are rough and freshly split beneath his touch. He thinks the beetle wasn't half as disorienting. Concern flickers in him, but Gon snuffs it out before it can flood him. It isn’t that he doesn’t care for whatever’s going on with Killua, but he can’t let his mind divert from what’s currently at stake—Kite’s life has to take precedence over all else.

The moment passes and Killua retreats to allow Gon to let them inside, falling awfully quiet. Gon wants to say something, but he doesn't think he’ll be able to fish out the words, so he opts for saying nothing instead. The night trickles on, they both finish taking their respective showers and Gon finds Killua hesitating at the foot of the bed. The hotel was cheap but conveniently close to the pier, which meant most of the double-bedded rooms were usually booked out all year long. It wasn’t like they hadn't shared beds before, but for some reason, it suddenly feels like towing some kind of cryptic line. Gon isn’t sure if it’s because they’re older now or if it has anything to do with the jumbled way he’s been feeling lately, but he files the thought under non-pressing concerns and discards it to collect dust. 

“Killua?” Gon’s voice is soft.

“Mm,” Killua barely looks up. He has that faraway-on-a-spaceship expression on his face, the one he gets sometimes when he’s lost inside his own head. Gon can’t help but wonder if it’s a childhood habit, a side-effect of his totalitarian upbringing. The image of his best friend as a small child staring out a midnight window dreaming of escape makes his blood boil. 

“Are you okay?” Gon can’t help but hope to bring him back to earth.

“The bed’s kind of small, isn’t it? I could call for a mattress and take the floor.”

“No, I mean… Are you really okay?” Gon presses. 

Killua’s scowl is sharp and pointed. “Gon, I told you. It’s nothing to worry about. You focus on saving Kite, let me handle everything else.”

“You don’t think I’m trying to do that?”

“You’re not doing a very good job at it.”

_“Killua,”_

“Seriously? Just go to bed, Gon.”

“No. Not until you tell me what happened, because obviously something did.” Gon’s resolve is iron as he crosses his arms over his chest and parks himself in front of his faltering best friend. Killua blinks back at him blankly, expression cavernous and slightly irked. “I could lie, but I don’t have the energy for that. Let’s just say it’s my business and leave it at that. Alright?” 

“Your business?” Gon feels a dagger materialize in his throat. “Is that why you were following us around all day, because you’re so good at minding your own business?” He watches Killua’s face fall and immediately remedies. “I … I’m not mad. It just sounds silly coming from you and you know it.”

Gon had noticed him. At the cafe, at the aquarium… Everywhere they went. He could feel his best friend’s shadow—and sometimes it’d been tricky focusing on what Palm was saying when he found his own gaze wandering, attempting to play Spot The Killua; see what futile disguise he’d turn up in next. It became a little one-sided game inside his head, far more entertaining than whatever Palm had been drawling on about. He liked Palm, he really did, and he knew how to keep her occupied… As long as she wasn’t making elaborate promises of death and capering around maniacally with those demon-wide eyes of hers; Gon figured things were going smoothly. Killua being there however, somehow amped everything up and made the date ten times more interesting. There were moments when Gon felt the ridiculous urge to swing an arm around Palm or draw in really close to whisper something to her out of earshot just to see how Killua’d react. Another, far saner part of him was just glad Killua was around. The thought of him grounded Gon somehow, reminded him of the drab reality of their situation. It didn’t matter if they were on a pseudo-date doing all of these regular-people activities, not when the Chimera Ants were running loose, not when one of them had in its clutches the only person in Gon’s life who’d actually treated him like a son.

Killua pales at this. “You… How did you know…?” 

Gon shrugs and begins to laugh. “How did you ever make it in the field as a covert assassin!?”

“ _Stop._ ” 

“Don’t they train you to be sneaky?”

“It’s not funny!”

“You were about as subtle as Leorio after half a dozen energy drinks!” Gon points out. 

“I wasn’t even trying _that_ hard—“ Killua huffs.

“Excuses, excuses.” Gon clutches his stomach and doubles backwards, short giggles escaping from his mouth. “Hey guys. Look at me. I’m Killua Zoldyck, the assassin prodigy! Now watch me hide behind this conveniently placed plant! Oh look—it’s the perfect length and width to masterfully veil my entire body!”

“I swear I’m going to kill you!” 

“How are you gonna do that? Here’s a tip: avoid a stealth attack!”

“Go to hell!” Killua tackles him and they tussle against one another. For a few moments that pass by like quicksilver; they’re just a couple of kids again with no care in the world. At this point, Killua’s got Gon pinned in between the edge of the bed and his own body, his knee digging into the bottom of Gon’s thigh. Gon’s got the collar of his t-shirt caught in between his front teeth to keep from breaking into another string of biting laughs. “What? You don’t exactly blend in.”

(Gon doesn’t add that he thinks he could cherry-pick Killua out of a crowd of thousands. He doesn’t add that he has bloodhound senses and that he’s had Killua’s scent memorized for a long time now. He doesn’t add that feeling a sweeping sense of relief at the sight of him has become a bad habit. Gon’s begun to measure the rightness of the world in terms of proximity to Killua and it’s happened on such a subconscious level that even he’s not completely aware of it.)

He has a tendency of not realizing the worth of the things that he has until he loses them. He knows he can take things for granted, knows he’s taken Killua for granted countless times and that he will probably do it again—but he’s going to try, actively, not to let this fall through the cracks. Killua is too important and the thought of having to give him up—unthinkable. He can concentrate all of his energy into rescuing Kite because he knows Killua will be there dealing with the inconsequential, clearing the way for him, guiding him the way the moon’s gravitational pull ushers the tides. 

“It’s the hair, isn’t it?” Killua mumbles, expression sour as he regrettably releases his grasp.

“And a poorly chosen disguise.” Gon adds, still smiling like an idiot.

“Damn it!” Killua steps back and balls his hands into fists on either side of him, but then the fortification behind his eyes actually softens; giving way. “It looks bad but,” he begins. “I was just watching out for you.”

“You don’t have to protect me from Palm,” Gon explains. “Or anyone else for that matter.”

For a millisecond, Gon thinks he sees hurt flash in his eyes, but then Killua’s lip curls up suggestively. “Isn’t that what friends do? Friends _worry_. Who was preaching that to me earlier?”

“I appreciate it,” Gon says, before breaking into a chirpy voice that’s sure to play on every one of Killua’s nerves. “I guess I’m lucky I have the bestest friend in the whole world who stalks me while I’m on dates—” 

 _“With psychopathic older witches.”_ Killua cuts in, defensively. 

“Mmhm,” Gon breaks into an endearing smile just as it hits him. This is probably the first time since the incident at NGL with Kite and that disgusting _creature_ that he’s felt himself truly laugh. It doesn’t really come as much of a surprise that it’s all thanks to Killua. 

“Killua,” Gon doesn’t realize he’d said his name out loud.

“Yeah?”

“We can both take the bed, if that’s okay with you.”

“Anything you want, Gon.”

They turn the lights off and crawl into bed.

Killua isn’t wrong about the bed’s size being inadequate, but Gon isn’t uncomfortable; not around Killua, who’s lying with his back facing Gon. Killua insisted on a pillow in between them, but considering that there were only two pillows and that neither boy wanted the other to have to sleep without one, they just had to make do. Gon has another uncanny urge to trace idle fingers down the length of Killua’s well-built frame, feel the bones that accompany his elegant spine arching prominently from underneath his indigo turtleneck. Gon doesn't realize he’s actually acted upon the silent, self-kept desire until he notices Killua tense up and shiver abruptly. Gon waits for him to say something, reprimand him or cry out, in his appealing way, “What the hell, Gon!?” 

Nothing.

Slowly, experimentally, Gon runs another hand over Killua’s curved back, this time making his way upwards. He can feel the awkward bones jutting out in places where Killua overexerted himself, the bumpy region of his spinal chord, the sharp hilts of his shoulder blades. He follows the slope of his body up to the nape of Killua’s neck and runs wispy circles through the curls that gather there. This actually makes Killua let out the softest, indulgent hum but Gon’s half-convinced he imagines it. The light that speckles in through the translucent curtains is unobtrusive and breathy. It dunks Killua’s body in strips of moonlight, painting his hair a snow-glaze silver.

Gon wants to run his hands through it, feel how soft it is, but he doesn’t know if that’s going too far. It feels like going too far.

The thing is, maybe Gon’ll be able to sleep better and then proceed to shelve the bothersome inkling away completely if he just knows what’s going on with Killua. It won’t drive him crazy anymore and then maybe he’ll be able to focus on what’s really important. 

“Aunt Mito used to rub my back like this when I used to have trouble sleeping. Maybe it’ll make you feel better after the beating you took earlier today?”

“If this is a new tactic to get me to spill, it’s not going to work so quit it now.” Killua’s words are trapped against his pillow.

“You’re so stubborn,” Gon finally says, quietly. 

“Caught it from someone I know.”

“Do you think overthinking is contagious?” 

“What’s got you using your brain more than usual?”

“You. I just… I wanna know if everything’s good with you, y’anno? You seem… Different.”

Killua’s silences stretch longer than what should be fair. “Good different or bad different?”

“See, that’s what I can’t tell.”

Killua sighs. “Do you really want to know?”

Gon nods vigorously and the creaky bed beneath them joins him in conveying his approval.

“Fine but after I tell you that’s the end of that. We drop it. Deal?”

“Okay deal! Now temme.” 

After a long, ceaseless minute, Killua carefully turns over on his side so that they’re now facing each other. Gon can’t help but note that there’s barely a few spare inches in between them as Killua fastens a palm in between the pillow and his cheek. “When I was busy trying to make sure that crazy lady wasn’t trying to eat you alive or turn you into a frog or something, I was uh… compromised—and I ran into one of the Ants.”

“What.”

“Let me finish—So, I was fighting him, and that’s when I realized that the mental barricade Bisky’d been warning me about was a literal one—a needle planted by Brother Dearest, to be precise. It was lodged right here,” he pushes his bangs up and digs a gentle finger into the bandage across his forehead. “So I yanked it out. Got rid of it. I’m much better now.”

“Wait what?”

Gon can feel his brain beginning to short-circuit. Killua’s words all beclouding like a wall fountain. It’s all a bit much to process.

“Oh, and you don’t have to worry about the Ant. I made sure to separate his head from his body.” Killua adds, rather nonchalantly.

“I don’t understand. You fought an Ant all by yourself? You didn’t even tell me?” He knows he sounds petulant, but he can’t help but feel a tad betrayed. The Ant could’ve had vital information that could’ve led him one step closer to Kite’s orchestrator. 

“I don’t know Gon, I was a little preoccupied fighting for my life… And yours.”

“Oh. Sorry. I didn’t mean to sound…” 

“He probably didn’t know shit, Gon—and plus, he was really grossing me out.”

“I can’t believe you were out fighting an Ant while I was looking at stupid light-up bugs.”

“Don’t sweat it.”

_Don’t sweat it. Is he serious?_

“And what did the needle do to you, exactly?” Gon has to know.

“It—“ Killua’s voice falters, and he has to clear his throat before he continues; gaze darting everywhere but at Gon’s face. His fair lashes curtaining whatever feelings his bare eyes might betray. “It kept me compliant, to a degree anyway. I kept seeing Illumi’s void eyes in my mind, telling me to run.” Killua lets out a shaky breath and Gon realizes that it seems to be visibly paining him to even talk about it, to acknowledge it as a real thing that happened. His eyes harden. “I should’ve seen it coming. I mean, it wasn’t surprising in the least, but I should’ve seen it coming a mile away. I can’t put anything past my family. Especially Illumi and his cheap parlor tricks. He’s almost just as bad as mother.” When Killua meets his eyes, all Gon can see is stained glass. There’s a thick plume of anger building inside of him. Gon can’t even imagine what it must be like…

He knows what it’s like to relinquish control to an outside force, he suspects he’s been under his father’s thumb ever since he began this goose chase. Strung along by Ging’s crazy whims, but at least he allows himself to be knocked around by the wind willingly—How dare that bastard mess with Killua’s _mind_ —His beautiful mind is his greatest asset. Gon knows he can be selfish and preoccupied in his own issues, but all of a sudden all he can think about is avenging Killua. Showing up at the Zoldyck’s flashy old mansion and wrecking havoc. Tearing Illumi apart for trying to disrupt his best friend’s brain, mess him all up on the inside, cause all that fear and self-loathing and pain. Rage swells up within him like a funeral crescendo. The next time anyone wants to harm one hair on Killua’s head they’ll have to go through Gon first. 

There’s a sharp pang in his heart. Quick, sickening like a fever. This is the truth of the world, isn’t it? He used to be so blind, having only lived in a daydream, a delusion… Whale Island _lied_. 

The reality of it all is something else. Something twisted and grotesque. People are awful and terrible and the world is a fly trap that snatches whatever’s good away. 

Gon thinks he doesn’t want to live in a world that steals father-figures and hurts best friends. 

Gon wants to change that kind of a world. 

Or better yet… **Destroy** it.

Warm hands he’d know anywhere running alongside his face.

“Gon.” Killua’s fragile voice returns him to himself. 

“How could he do that to you!?” Gon barks. “And he’s supposed to be your brother!?”

“Gon,”

“What is wrong with the world? I don’t understand, Killua! Why would he wanna hurt you like that? Why is everything so—so unfair?”

“Hey, Gon. Listen to me. Calm down. For every Illumi there’s a Gon, okay? So it doesn’t matter. The world’s a spitting image of itself.” Killua’s hands, ultimately have the same salve effect as his words, and some of the pounding static in Gon’s brain finally begins to disperse. 

He lets out a hot, hissed breath.

“I’m really sorry, Killua,” the word feels about as useful as a lump of coal, but Gon means it with his very being.

“Don’t be.”

“I feel like I should’ve been there right next to you.”

“Not if I have to lose you in the process.” Killua states, firmly.

It’s a startling realization when Gon discovers he wants to kiss Killua for saying that. 

Gon’s always been one to move and act. He can’t get lost in contemplation over this, right? So what’s stopping him? The warmth of hands disappears from his face. Suddenly, Gon feels bitter and empty. Killua looks into Gon’s eyes as he tucks his hands up against his chest, his gaze heavy enough to melt stalagmite. “I’m tired,” Killua relays, with a poignant yawn. “I’m gonna crash, okay? Good night.” 

“Wait, Killua?”

“What is it?”

“This is gonna sound weird.”

“Mm?”

“Can—Could I… uh,” Gon bites his bottom lip. “Can I hold your hand?”

Killua says nothing for so long Gon feels his insides beginning to age, but then soundlessly, he takes one of Gon’s hands and slips it in between his own before bringing them up to his chest and closing his eyes. Everything within Gon liquefies before reigniting again. It seems insane how well their hands fit together, as if they were tailored specifically for the purpose of fitting into one another. Gon closes his own eyes and listens to Killua breathing, listens for his breaths to even out, times the space in between those breaths, turns them into a song he wants to lock away inside his head forever.

Gon hates being helpless, hates it more than anything in the world. He’s supposed to be the one who always paves a way.

Except right now, his own helplessness is somehow the only thing he knows to be true, excluding this new-old feeling that Killua’s brought upon. 

A helplessness of a primal kind, back when men hadn’t discovered fire. How is he—one person—meant to fix a world so consistently broken? How is he meant to maintain this thing he’s discovering with this beautiful person asleep besides him when he isn’t even sure he’ll make it through the next few days? How is he meant to save Kite when every instinct within him is rallying against his better judgement; reminding him that it’s all worthless and that Kite—Zombie Kite—whatever, might actually be dead, and for real this time. Gon lets out a short, irritable breath before shifting his gaze to blatantly stare at his best friend.

Gon doesn’t think he’s ever had the opportunity to openly admire him before, not in this way. He takes in the way Killua sleeps all curled up into himself as if shrinking away from the world. He finds his attention diverted by his slightly-parted lips, now irreversibly cracked in places from a lifetime of being bitten into. His little button-nose wriggling every once and awhile, like he has to sneeze in his sleep.

Gon even finds himself captivated by the simple rise and fall of Killua’s chest, placing a careful hand over his heart just once, to feel it thumping there against his palm lightly. In a minute, Gon discovers that Killua's heart beats sixty-one times and that he breathes fourteen times. Only, every three minutes his breathing will stutter slightly and for that minute he’ll breathe twelve instead. There’s a giddy head rush of a moment where Killua’s eyelids flutter, and his heartbeat picks up its pace and changes rhythm, almost as if sensing Gon’s touch. Did he imagine that, too?

Gon thinks he should take his hand away, but he likes feeling it there underneath his palm—the evidence that Killua is alive and here by his side and that everything will be okay. Gon needs Killua, one of the few people he trusts in the world, to tell him that everything will be okay. That they’ll make it out of this. That he will save Kite, even if he has to raze the world to the ground in the process, even if he ends up having to sacrifice himself to do it. Not out of nobility—no, but out of a raw desperation. Gon looks at Killua again. The boy that would follow him to the ends of the earth. The boy always saving his life. The boy he thinks he must love, because that’s the only conclusion that seems to line up with this unmarked grave of a feeling stirring a riot inside him, because that’s the only conclusion he’s willing to accept.

Killua looks so unimpeachable in his sleep with his arms wrapped protectively around himself and his hair fanning out over the pillow. Gon feels like it’s becoming harder to breathe the longer he has to watch Killua like this, but he keeps doing it anyway. At one point, he has to readjust his arm, which begins to ache at the angle required to keep feeling for Killua’s pulse. So he inches slightly closer and raises his hand up to caress Killua’s face instead, flower petal careful-fingers tracing the newly formed scars that lap his face, Gon can feel the edges of the incisions beneath the thin material of his bandages… _All of this for me. Am I even worth it?_

There’s a part of Gon that wishes he could see himself in the way Killua sees him, maybe then he’d understand. Maybe if he could live up to that special image he’d built for him then it would all be worth it in the end. “Hey, Killua,” Gon says. “I know I’m not a really good friend. I know I get carried away sometimes. Okay, a lot of times. But I just want you to know that…” Know what?

 _That I’ll probably end up making a big mistake like I always do and you’ll end up regretting sticking by me? That I feel like I’m on a precipice and that even the slightest poke might send me hurtling off the edge into uncharted territory? That I want you to stay, but I think it’s best for you to go (far away from me where you don’t have to get yourself hurt for someone who was supposed to care for you again?)_. 

Instead, the words that leave his lips are tender. 

“What if I kissed you?” 

Killua stirs a little in his sleep and Gon almost rolls off the edge of the bed in alarm. 

“Maybe I’ll just steal one before everything goes to hell,” he murmurs. 

Killua’s breathing is collected and recurrent like the buzz of cicadas in the night. Gon doesn’t know what overcomes him as he leans over to press the smallest of pecks to Killua’s lips. Gon’s eyes flutter closed and—he feels warm lips move against his own. Gon feels a breath he didn’t see coming well up in his chest all too quickly—and it hurts just a little when he lets it out in a startled exhale. One of Killua’s hands fastens around the back of Gon’s neck as he pulls him down against him. Killua’s mouth is soft and tastes like the strawberry shortcake he’d consumed earlier. There’s something hazy and comfortable about the kiss, as if they’d been kissing for ages. Gon’s lips are hesitant, but Killua’s are eager as daybreak. Gon can feel the heat of Killua’s body, the lightness of his own. This parade between them, exchanged under moonlight in a dingy hotel room under covers; the way secrets transpire. The way small things bloom to life. Gon pulls away first, if only to look down at Killua and double check if he’s real. Killua’s eyes flutter open, the bluest blue to ever blue: drunk; glossy. Gon can still feel the kiss, and the loss of it thereafter. 

“Hi,” Killua's tone is tame, unsure.

“Hi,” Gon hopes his own sounds alleviating. 

Killua laughs, softly, and Gon feels it rumble against his own chest. 

“What?” Gon asks, puzzled.

Killua hides his face behind his hands. “Why does it feel like we’re meeting for the first time?”

Gon shakes his head. He isn’t sure he’s been able to successfully process anything that just took place. He’s aware that he just kissed his best friend, aware his best friend kissed him back. He’s also aware that he’s gotta stay focused on the plan, aware that this shouldn't be the time or the place. But Killua’s looking at him with those pole star eyes and Gon can’t _think_ straight. 

“Stop thinking so much,” Killua mumbles. “It doesn’t suit you.”

“Will you think for me?” Gon replies, sleepily. 

“It’s going to be okay,” Killua whispers, running a hand through the short, prickly hair at the nape of Gon’s neck. “You’ve never let the world get in your way before. Plus… I—I believe in you.” 

Killua’s voice cracks like fissures formed in varicose veins. “I believe in you, too.” Gon’s response is automatic, and he feels his cheeks flare as Killua narrows his eyes and attempts to hide the prominent blush invading his features. “That’s not what you’re meant to say, dummy.”

"And you’ll be there with me?” Gon’s appalled by the hopefulness so very blatant in his voice.

“As long as you want me to be.”

“So… Forever, then?”

Killua rolls his eyes and his grip around Gon tightens, just a little. “Whatever’s the realistic version of forever.”

Gon’s smile is wide enough to slant across the darkened room. 

“Thank you, Killua.” His expression; a sky tinged with golden longing.

“I’ll take you there someday, if you want.” Gon continues. “To where the fireflies live.” 

Killua scrunches up his nose. “Don’t you know any places that don’t reek of Palm?” 

“Okay, okay. I’ll take you somewhere even better. I promise.” 

Killua looks at him in the way he looks at his chocolate robots. Gon looks at him like he’s remembering his home island. Maybe good things come in lots of forms? 

“So,” Killua starts. “Do you want to get off me now?”

“Oh, is this an inconvenient position for you?” Gon leans further down so that their chests are now flush against one another. Killua’s entire face flashes a critical shade of purple. “Get off, idiot!” he kicks Gon gently in the back of the elbow and Gon chuckles, rolling back onto his side and off of Killua, who’s clutching his middle in mock pain. “I think you cracked one of my ribs.”

“No, that’s just your excitement from kissing me.”

“Shut up, Gon!” 

The sounds from outside, dwindled before, are now the loudest things in the room. The vehicles in the distance honking and trudging along the street, someone's heavy footsteps pacing above them, the occasional owl and the tik-tik-tik of the clock on the wall, counting off the seconds as if in silent wait for a big show. Silence pours over them again. When Killua breaks it, he sounds conflicted. “Can I tell you something?”

“Obviously.” Gon shrugs, eyes closed under the pretense of sleep.

“You really took me by surprise when you… I mean. I’ve been wanting to kiss you for a really long time now.” 

“Really? When did you first realize it?” He wants to open his eyes and look at Killua, but he’s not sure he’ll recover from it if he does. It’ll be too much—too much for not-the-right-time-or-place. He just wants to bask in this without being swallowed whole by it. Not that he has a choice in the matter. 

“I’m not sure. I think it might’ve been when you told me that Kite’s alive with that determination and pure optimism in your eyes. You remind me that there can still be light in dark places.”

_But what if I’m dark stuck in a light space?_

Gon doesn’t want to think it, but it’s almost as if he stumbles across the memory. No, rather as if he’s hurtling ceaselessly back into it. At this point, he doesn’t even have to close his eyes to picture it: incontrovertible and ever-present at the back of his mind, like a tumor. There’s only certain details of the memory that are burned into his brain, while others escape him. He remembers the thick scent of river-silt in the air and the phantom crooning of the wind. He remembers those deep, endless eyes; revealing the color of burned meat and dirty wine. Too radioactive to be completely human. It’s the sweltering flash of sudden, heart-stopping red that keeps him up at night, and the look on Kite’s face soon there after, like a solider who’d accepted his fate. He thought they’d locked eyes for a brief, mind-numbing second and then—Killua stepping in front of him, shielding him from the aftermath. Finally the unprecedented bolt of pain and the following blackness.

Every time he relives the memory, it plays out a little different. 

There are instances where he changes things, saves Kite in the nick of time, grabs Killua’s arm and twists it before he can knock him out. Instances where he kills the creature with the oblivion-glare and watches the light extinguish from its eyes.  
  
_You remind me that there can still be light in dark spaces._

Gon tries to picture himself as Killua would, imagines a distant light upon some alien sea twinkling like an ancient breed of hope. No matter how hard he tries to see it brighten and inch closer, it keeps getting devoured by the night; reduced to nothingness.

The words remind Gon of what he’s meant to hold onto. Perhaps that’s the person Killua sees when he looks at him, perhaps that’s the person he’s ought to strive to keep being. Gon is worried about that person's health, he isn't sure that person's doing so good. Is that person even existent, or is Killua seeing something Gon doesn't?

Gon looks at Killua again, Killua gazes back, as tiny and collapsable as a toy. There's something so finite in his expression, and in that moment, Gon knows Killua would willingly go down with him if things did turn south. And Gon doesn't know what to do with that fact. Doesn't know if he deserves to keep such a thing. Not when he didn't ask for it, not when he's going to get it anyway. He wants to make Killua understand how grateful he is. Wants Killua to know how much it all means. He wants to shield him from the world, come out of this unscathed, if only for his best friend. Knowing it's asking for too much. Knowing the world's too cruel to allow them such a fate. And he aches just to be a naive child again, roaming his forest kingdoms, and he wishes, pointlessly, for things to go back to the way they were before everything changed. Maybe he'll have to shake Killua off, the way barren winter branches fight off the snow, because ultimately, this is Gon's fight.

Killua should have no part in it, certainly shouldn't be dying for it; for him. 

And yet...

The days leading away from the loss of Kite have all been rimmed with a certain, gradual loss of hope, the sort that transmutes into a vicious grief that feels like it’ll spill over his head like a bucket of doom at any given moment and lead him down a desperate path.

Gon doesn’t want to be that person.

For now… Gon doesn’t want to be anything. 

He just wants to here, in bed next to his favorite person in the world. 

Right now, he’s just content being in Killua’s presence, falling asleep next to him; he wants to keep being oblivious to the horrors the future might hold. He wants to surrender to fickle wants and childish hopes. He wants to be the light Killua’s convinced that he is.

“Killua?” Once again, he’s spoken aloud without meaning to. 

The boy next to him is nimble and captivating and fast asleep and a mystery (the kind Gon knows all too well).

Gon doesn’t get to finish his sentiment, but he leans further in so that he can feel Killua’s breath washing against his face, still warm and carrying the scent of strawberries—and lets sleep engulf the uncertainties of tomorrow.

 _I’ll bring Kite home,_ Gon thinks, as his mind begins to blur. _And I’ll make sure I'll always be worthy of your friendship._

_You’ll see._

**Author's Note:**

> For Elfie, Merry Christmas. <3


End file.
